


Love is Blind

by Amielleon



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Harm to Animals, Injury, Past Abuse, Relationship Issues, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amielleon/pseuds/Amielleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia and Henry get married and (eventually) have sex while Inigo and Maribelle are nosy fangirls. But things aren't so simple in what should have been their happily-ever-after. Maybe they've been expecting the wrong things all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That one WIP I've been teasing everyone about for half a year. Some weird mix of romcom pairingfic and complicated relationship problems, and everyone being teenagers about sex. (I mean, they _are_ teenagers, so whatever.) There's something for everyone? Unless you're sensitive about consent issues, in which case reading this may not be a good idea. Babbly notes [here](http://amielleon.dreamwidth.org/223968.html). Henry's characterization based off [Japanese Henry](http://amielleon.dreamwidth.org/213760.html).
> 
> With thanks to [TattedMariposa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tattedmariposa/) for betaing and friendship and [cover art](http://amielleon.tumblr.com/post/58202561451/love-is-blind-summary-olivia-and-henry-get).

If Olivia had to pinpoint the beginning of the beginning, she might have chosen a forgettable moment just outside of Fort Steiger, when Inigo turned to her and asked, "Mother," (Inigo had only been with them for a month and she was still getting used to being called _Mother_ , to say nothing of the idea of being part of a family she hadn't yet made,) "when are you and Father going to get married?"

"Soon?" she offered. "Maribelle's wedding was only two weeks ago, and Robin says we can't spend the time and money on another yet. But maybe we'll have a chance soon."

"I can't wait," Inigo said with a smile. 

It turned out that _soon_ might have been too optimistic. During the battle they discovered that the Resistance had fallen to pieces. Soon they found themselves on a sixteen-hours-a-day forced march across the Valmese plains in a desperate attempt to elude their pursuers.

Three days into their bleary journey, Henry showed up at her tent with his bedroll overflowing in his arms, sloppily arranged it next to hers, and fell asleep before providing any explanation to her or her tentmate.

The next morning he mumbled (half into his pillow), "We never get to see each other when we're on the march."

"Yes."

For a moment it was as if he'd fallen back asleep. Then he propped up his messy head on his arms, shook his bangs away from his eyes, and asked, "Why can't we be married already?"

"The army certainly couldn't afford a wedding right now, but... I suppose we could be married without."

"Can we?"

"Well...." They could celebrate later, perhaps. After this march, or maybe after this war, in the comfort of her own country. That seemed like a much better idea than waiting forever. "Yes."

"Great! Let's go find Libra." And just like that he was up, sorting out his bedhead with his fingers and working his feet into his shoes.

Within the hour, they'd found the priest and some shade under a nice little Valmese tree with red leaves. Henry held her hands and rubbed a finger over her ring as they repeated their vows, and in mere minutes it was done. He gave her a closed-mouthed kiss on the nose, and she teared up. In that moment, she could have died of embarrassment. Maribelle blew delicately into a handkerchief and Inigo might have been crying as he beamed the happiest smile in the world.

And so they were wed.

* * *

On the first night of their married life, Olivia thought he was just tired, as they'd been on a forced march. And on the second, they took their desperate stand against Yen'fay's pursuing forces in the volcano; they recovered on the third. But by the fourth night they had both rest and privacy, and Henry still simply laid down by her side and drifted to sleep. By then she had her doubts.

It was possible, she supposed, that he didn't know what married people did, or that he was shy about the whole thing, or that it was entirely too hot to do much of anything, or maybe even that he was still exhausted. (They only had a day yet to recover from sixteen-hour marches and battles, so there was that.) If it _weren't_ because of heat or exhaustion, Olivia wasn't entirely sure what to do. She'd always privately imagined being violently ravished on her wedding night. And the possibility of having to be the ravisher instead was not an idea she was used to.

So she hoped he was just tired.

In which case, he was tired the next night, and the night after that.

By the sixth day, perhaps her grouchiness was noticeable, or perhaps the night watch was filled with gossips, or maybe one of several astute observers in camp had been taking notes. Whatever the case, quite out of the blue, Maribelle pulled up beside her on horseback and said that they ought to have a talk. Olivia mumbled something that wasn't an outright refusal and soon found herself riding double with her.

"So I hear," Maribelle said in her most scandalized whisper, "that things are not going ... well? For you and your husband?"

"Things are fine," Olivia said—which for the most part, they were.

"Oh! I'm so relieved." Maribelle's reaction was downright theatrical and Olivia didn't believe it for a second. "I heard the most terrible rumor"—and here her voice dropped to a whisper again—"that your marriage has not yet been consummated?"

Olivia's deep red face gave it away. (Maybe she wasn't so easily embarrassed, she thought, so much as her company found nothing unspeakable.)

"No, no, that will not do," Maribelle chastised. "What is the matter, Olivia? Do you find his odor offensive? Are his assets lacking? Has he an abhorrent way of being lost with his hands?"

If it were possible to melt and disappear into the back of a horse from sheer force of will, Olivia might have.

"Is he unable to summon bodily excitement? Or does he pale at the sight of a female body in full unveiled?"

"No. Oh gods," Olivia finally managed to muster. "No, it's not any of that."

"Then whatever is the matter?" Maribelle asked, in a voice not too unkindly.

"We just... haven't really... gotten around to it."

Maribelle gawked for one moment before remarking, "Now _that_ is the sign of a serious problem. ...You _are_ attracted to him, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Olivia replied, although as Maribelle continued to drill her, she began to feel less certain about everything. Anything.

"And he is attracted to you?"

"I... I think so."

"Well then," Maribelle said with a frown. "Perhaps I should tell him to get on with it!"

"Please don't," Olivia managed.

"Then perhaps _you_ ought to urge him to get on with it. Ugh! I would not be able to stand it if I were you, Olivia. I abhor men without initiative."

(Which was probably why Maribelle's wedding took place eight months before Brady's birthday.)

* * *

But she did want to make love and was tired of waiting—that much was true.

On the seventh night of their marriage, a cool breeze brought reprieve from the heat. Olivia bathed, put on her spare clean dancing outfit, applied a tasteful dab of perfume, and lit the oil lamp she had borrowed from Maribelle. Then she sat gracefully upon the bedroll waiting for him.

It seemed to take longer than usual before Henry appeared through the tent flap. 

He sniffed, tilted his head at her, and said, "It smells like autumn in here."

"Um. Do you like it?"

"Yup! It smells nice. Are you preparing for a dance tonight?"

She closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and very well may have been—she bade the performer enter to calm her nervous heart. Olivia rose with practiced grace, strode over, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him in the mouth.

Henry indeed had an abhorrent way of being lost with his hands as well as his lips, tongue, and most every other part of his body. She cupped his face in her hands and guided his mouth open, teasing his tongue with hers.

In due time, she parted from his face and remarked, "Lavender?"

"Ahaha, Say'ri found some tea flowers awhile ago and today they were ready for brewing. They're having a tea party in her tent right now, and I was going to ask you if you wanted to come have some, but..."

Henry self-consciously pressed the back of one hand to his lips. It had been their first mouth to mouth kiss. Olivia found the gesture so cute that she clasped that hand in hers and kissed him again.

When she drew away, she said, "I'd like to spend some time together, just by ourselves."

"Sure. Okay."

He was slightly breathless as Olivia led him to the bedroll, sat down, and slowly reclined while drawing him into a crouch above her. She released his arms and folded her hands over her own stomach, gazing up at him expectantly.

In the lamplight, Henry looked at her with dark eyes barely visible behind his pale eyelashes, and took a single deep breath.

He raised one hand to her face and tenderly took obsessive pains to push every stray hair into its rightful place. She really hoped he would do something soon—waiting was making her nervous.

When her hair had been neatly arranged, he cupped her cheek and at last confessed, "I feel like you're waiting for me to do something..."

Olivia cringed a little on the inside. With composure worthy of a leading actress, she said, "Is there anything you want? Think about it." Before he could open his mouth (because she wasn't sure he'd come to the right conclusion) she took his hand and placed it upon her breast. He reacted as she expected, touching her softness with faint awe, grazing his knuckles over the folds of her top.

"Here," she said, sliding her breast out from under the cloth. "You can do as you please with my garments."

"Oh. I can?"

"Yes."

He freed her other breast and touched each of their nipples with a reverent delicacy as if he were afraid of harming them; her senses sharpened in response and anticipation. His hands were unduly soft for a man who killed.

Olivia wanted more of his softness; she worked her fingers under his shirt and pushed the cloth upward, exposing his heated skin faintly sticky with old sweat. Henry stopped stroking her breasts and peered at her.

"Olivia?"

"I want to see you," she said, echoing a line from some play about lovers. 

"Huuh? I'm right here, so I don't really get what you're saying—"

He probably understood more than he was willing to admit. Though he kept smiling, his eyebrows quirked for a moment in what might have been surprise as she exposed his torso up to where his arms joined his body, and ran her palms back down across his back. His skin was coated lightly with down and speckled with scar tissue. She was curious, but remembering what he'd told her of himself, thought better of examining them with her fingertips.

"You're much prettier, Olivia."

She smiled at him and ran her fingers through his light hair, watching it ripple with the lamplight. "I like how you look."

"Really?"

"Yes. Especially when you're happy, and your smile lights up your whole face."

She trailed her hand down to his cheek. The corners of his lips were raised but he was not smiling.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Hmm. Well, I still don't know what we're doing."

Olivia searched for a good way to put into words what she felt shouldn't have been her duty to explain. "It's, um... something married people do."

"Oh? Like baking pies for each other?"

"Um... no, not quite." Olivia sighed, met Henry's eyes, and reluctantly began, "Do you know what sex is?"

"I've heard the word before. Ahaha, but no one was willing to tell me what it was. I think it's something men like doing? Except you aren't actually allowed to, so you have to get away with it."

"Um.... Once you're married you're allowed to do it with the person you're married to.... And, um, w-women like doing it too! But, the important part is..." Henry leaned into her hand while she struggled to find the right words. Stroking his face with her thumb, she contemplated for one more moment before she said, "The first thing that you should know is that it's how women become pregnant."

"Huh... So this is how children are made?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good!" Henry sat back and pulled his shirt down again. "I was worried that you would suddenly be pregnant one day!"

Olivia was momentarily baffled. "You don't want to have children?"

"Well, Inigo's a good kid, but bearing him right now would be dangerous, don't you think? But I'm glad that won't be a problem! All we have to do is not have sex."

"No!" Olivia said immediately. "I mean, um. There are ways to keep it from happening. The pregnancy." It wasn't even possible at this time of month! "Please wait." She sat up and gripped him by the shoulders; he waited for her to speak. "The other part, the other important part... it feels wonderful, and exciting, and... it makes you feel really close, like nothing else in the world."

Henry hummed in wonderment. "Well, that does sound nice."

"If you're not, um, sure of yourself, I... I could... take the lead?"

When Olivia said it, she was aware of how unusual that was. But Henry certainly wasn't, and said without hesitation, "Sure! It's all yours."

For some reason, hearing that made her smile. She kissed him briefly twice, on the cheek and then the lips, and guided him to recline on the bedroll. Apparently still not certain of what to do with himself, he rested his hands on her forearms and grinned expectantly.

All hers, huh.

The first thing she did was quickly rid herself of her garments. And then she did away with Henry's too, to his apparent bewilderment. His uniform had never left much about the shape of his body to the imagination, but it made her giddy to be able to lay him bare. She kissed her way down his chest, rib by rib, touching her nose to little smooth staff-healed battle-scars. Less pleasing to her, after she'd made her way down, was the discovery that all of this somehow didn't sufficiently excite him. But that could be fixed. 

Olivia hesitated for a moment before bringing it to her mouth. She was relieved to find that it was quite clean and only faintly tasted of the salt of sweat; Henry let out a little gasp, and Olivia glanced up to watch astonishment erase all acted feeling from his face. Oh, there he was, late but not absent, and in fine form indeed—Olivia kept teasing him with her tongue just to watch the faces he made. He figured out something to do with his hands after all, nestling his fingers behind her hairband and holding on as if he were about to fall.

If she weren't presently busy, she might have let out a mischievous giggle. Instead she pushed it into one cheek and smiled a little as his grip tensed. And she pushed it back through to the other cheek, grazing it a little with her teeth. Olivia felt him go tight, clenched fingers catching a few strands of her hair. Encouraged, she toyed around for a moment longer before letting it go with a kiss. She took Henry's hands in hers to free herself, and rearranged herself to straddle him. His face was flushed and his hands were sweaty; Olivia squeezed his hands. "Are you nervous?" she asked, and just then noticed that her own heart was racing too.

"Hmm. I guess so."

Olivia kissed his eyelids and let go of one hand to stroke him. "Me too. It'll be okay."

"Ahaha. If you say so, Olivia."

She steadied herself before she lowered herself into position, her practiced dancer legs trembling slightly from nerves and not weakness. Upon contact, she gasped at the new sensation and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, and she rocked slowly, repeatedly.

For a little while she proceeded, until with a little twinge, something in her gave way, and she slid down until she just about sat upon his hips. "Oh," she said softly to herself, giggling and not sure why. But Henry joined in the giggling and she felt certain it was all right. 

Before their laughter had completely subsided, she began to hum tunelessly and resumed more confidently than before. Things seemed to go easier—despite a new bit of soreness, the overall sensation delighted her and she sought out more, and more, until her legs ached from these strange and sudden motions they were unused to. Exhilarated and panting in unison, she was half wondering when she ought to ( _if_ she ought to?) stop and try to find something more comfortable when Henry let out a gasp and went rigid. Olivia knew very well that meant things were drawing to a close. Bracing herself against his stiffened shoulders, she quickened, seeking it for herself too, wanting so much for things to end well. 

And it did, sweeping away all other awareness and drowning the breath in her lungs. Then, too quickly, it ebbed. As Olivia moved to disentangle herself, she noticed that some dark liquid dripped down and made a mess of itself upon the bedroll and both of their legs—as if now the fantasy was gone and left visceral reality in its departure.

"Just a moment sweetie," she muttered. With one hand cupped under herself in an attempt to keep the bedrolls unsoiled, she awkwardly walked over to her pile of supplies to search one-handedly for a roll of bandages she knew she had somewhere.

She heard Henry shifting behind her. "Olivia? Are you hurt?"

"Um, it's okay. It's normal. Since it's my first time." Finally finding the roll, she unwound a small length and cleaned what she could. She returned to Henry, sat on the bedroll peering at the blood on his skin. "Here. Let me clean you up." 

She gently cleaned him as he sat still. "How messy," he remarked.

"I'll have to find some time to wash our bedroll," she sighed. It wasn't as bad as it looked—with a single rag, she'd wiped up all but the drops absorbed into the bedroll's rough cloth.

"Hmmm. That's kind of troublesome."

"A little," she admitted. She dropped the rag off to the side on the ground and laid down on the pallet for a well-earned rest. "But I won't bleed after awhile. And I liked it." From this angle she had a full view of his back; by the lamplight, faintly visible raised scars formed a neat pattern like a pegboard, strange and deliberate, under a crisscross of lash marks.

Within a moment, he turned to one side to lay down.

"That's good! I'm glad you liked it." He laid his left hand on her shoulder, hooked his other around her arm, and nestled against her side.

Olivia shifted to face him, resting her own arm right under his ribs and letting out a yawn. She let her eyes meet his in soft focus, as sleepy as hers, and returned his smile.

* * *

The next morning, she faded into awareness at the subtle signs of Henry beginning to wake—the change in his breathing, the brush of his arm against hers as he shifted. Not yet ready to open her eyes, she pressed closer against him, evoking a little sound of surprise. He still smelled faintly of sex. He wrapped his arm around her and buried his nose in her hair.

They stayed like that for several moments until the heat got to her, and she wormed away and rolled over. She was halfway through thinking about how it was very warm this morning, and bright enough to be nearly time for the wake-up call, when she registered the sound of a bell off in the distance. 

Olivia yawned, stretched, and dragged herself up in search of her clothes. She hadn't been particularly neat about their removal; now she felt very self-conscious about running about her tent sore and stark-naked to collect them. She deposited Henry's garments on her own pillow, next to where he was still curled drowsily on his side. 

The sound of the wake-up bell approached, passed by their tent, and faded away into the other direction. After Olivia dressed herself and re-braided her hair, she sat down by Henry's still sleeping form. She watched him breathe, then ran her fingers through his sunburnt hair.

With eyes shut, he reached out and found her knee, and laid his hand on it while she stroked his hair.

"Time to wake up," she said. 

* * *

In the morning Olivia cheerily returned the oil lamp and the tinderbox to Maribelle ("I see things went well," she observed with a devilish grin.) and by the evening, half the army somehow knew that the deed had been done. 

It was the most embarrassing thing in her life.

Even worse was that Inigo had apparently chosen _this_ day to celebrate her hasty marriage. The moment he sat down next to her with a strange vase-like container and two mugs, she immediately started turning red, wondering if he had heard.

"Hello, Mother! Since you didn't get a proper celebration I thought we could share a drink. I got this from a brewery when we stopped for supplies—it's a local specialty, isn't that exciting? ... Uh, Mother, is something wrong?"

He hadn't made the slightest lewd reference yet. He probably _hadn't_ heard. Olivia swallowed her mortification and started to babble, "No! Not at all! Gosh, I love that about traveling! Local specialties!"

"Me too." He laughed off the awkward moment and folded back the cloth atop the container, then plucked off the stopper, carefully pouring its contents into the mugs. "Here, you can have the first try. Cheers!"

The drink was clear and smelled somehow... Valmese. Olivia gazed curiously into the mug for a moment before taking a sip. It burned her throat, and she remembered that she didn't care for strong drink. But the aftertaste was pleasantly strange. "How interesting," she remarked.

"I think I like Plegian wine better," he mused. Even so, he took another drink. 

"Plegian wine is my favorite," Olivia said. It occurred to her that Henry of all people should have been celebrating with them, and she glanced around looking for him. "Should we go get H—your father?"

"He doesn't drink," Inigo said. "I was going to celebrate with him later, after I'd found something to give him."

"Oh." Somehow, Olivia hadn't known that. And it was a little odd to think about why Inigo did. Thinking back, she had only met Henry some two months ago, while Inigo had both of them by his side for years. Breathing in the fragrance of her cup, Olivia said, "It must be strange for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Seeing your parents like this, your age. I can't imagine what that must be like."

Inigo fixed his gaze into his cup, inspecting the way the liquid lapped back and forth against its sides. "To be honest, it's... nice. It's like having the second chance no one ever really gets with death. I guess sometimes you seem more like a friend than a mother, but that's not a terrible thing."

He took a big gulp. Olivia thought to herself that he hadn't drank enough to force him into honesty. This came from Inigo himself.

"Well, anyway, now that you're married and everything, we can officially be a family together. I'm excited."

"Me too," Olivia said. She wondered how they were in the future, but it was the wrong time to ask. She smiled, and lifted her mug in celebration. Inigo smiled back and clicked his mug against hers.

"Inigo!"

—thundered Owain's voice as he came upon them from behind, startling both of them. "Do you drink to your mother's health, or to the budding start of your life?"

Inigo looked confused. Olivia buried her face in her hands before he figured it out.

"If it be the latter, cease! Desist! Your other self is yet vulnerable to the touch of a strong spirit!"

"What are you talking about, Owain? Mother married Father while we were on that crazy march, and we're catching up on the celebrations."

"Oh," Owain said. A pause passed. Olivia did not want to take her head out from behind her hands. "So you haven't heard. Yes, I see... I see. Then pardon me."

A moment passed. Then Inigo made a strangled sound of comprehension, and began to shout, "What the heck, Owain! No! Actually, that's why I waited until days after their wedding night! I didn't know! How could I have known that!? How did _you_ know!? No, I—we weren't celebrating _that_! Geez, how depraved do you think I am!? —A-and besides, my birthday is next month!"

"Oh. It is? I'd forgotten."

"Why did you have to say that in front of my mother," Inigo began to whine. "Oh gods. I'm never going to live this down. Mother, I swear I didn't know."

"I know," Olivia said from behind her hands. "I-I mean, I know you didn't know."

"I'm sorry," Inigo said, either out of breath or crying. "This didn't go as well as I thought it would. Um, I, I'm going now. You can keep the drink."

She lowered her hands in time to watch Inigo flee, Owain sheepishly watching his departing figure.

"You can have the rest," she said to Owain, and before he could protest, she also made a quick exit to the safety of her tent.

Maribelle assured her afterward that the army would lose all interest in the matter within a few days, as married couples doing as married couples did was not especially sensational gossip. She then went on to say, "But you should have seen the looks on your faces this morning!"

Olivia wished she could go around life casually hiding her face in her hands.

But though embarrassed, she was undaunted. A small, exciting world had opened up for her. Nothing had made her less eager to explore.

* * *

From the way they talked around camp, one might have supposed that they were an entourage of newlyweds out on an expedition to see the world. And though that might have been part of the truth, they were also the last members of the Valmese Rebellion heading to the capital to overthrow its emperor.

Then one bright noon five days later, Sumia reported that the capital was just beyond the horizon, and they were warriors again. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Gently, gently—" Lissa cautioned. To his credit, Gaius didn't so much as wince as they set the stretcher down and transferred him onto a pallet. He stared intensely upward with hands and jaw clenched tight.

"Do you need me?" Olivia said. "Should I find Maribelle?"

"I think she's tending to our allies. It'll be okay. He'll be okay. Can you get me some bandages?"

Olivia went to fetch them from the convoy, though to her eyes none of his wounds seemed wide enough to need more than the staff. Perhaps Lissa was trying to make her feel useful—and it was working. As a friend, she urgently wanted to tell Maribelle that her husband had been crushed by the Emperor's horse as it collapsed. Lissa must have felt the same. But they both knew that Maribelle was needed elsewhere.

If it'd been Henry—

She abruptly stilled in her search through the crates. She hadn't seen him since halfway through the battle, when Robin had ordered him to charge while the healers had needed her dances.

She tried to put the thought aside. He was probably safe somewhere in camp, and if he wasn't, Robin would have noticed and sent out a search.

Olivia grabbed a thick roll of bandages and dashed back to the healers' tent. Gaius was still hanging on to consciousness as Lissa circled him with her staff raised, eyes closed and lips pressed in concentration. 

She held onto the bandages and waited.

Lissa lowered her staff with a sigh and bent down to check his progress, seeing that his organs at least were no longer tender and the worst of his broken bones had began to knit. Olivia laid the bandages by his side. She had begun to put together how best to explain that she wanted to search for her own husband, when there was a commotion outside.

Maribelle burst through the flaps, blood on her pants, curled hair askew, completely out of breath. Olivia flinched as if expecting a scolding, but Maribelle only looked at her friends with recognition as she strode up to Gaius's side.

"Well, you're conscious," were the first words out of her mouth.

"Not for long if I can help it," he gritted out.

Maribelle looked at Lissa as if to ask _how bad is it?_ Lissa nibbled at her lip as she said, "He's going to make it, but his bones will take awhile, and I need to set his leg...."

"You lucky fool," Maribelle chided, her attention back on Gaius. "You were _assigned_ to scout the treasury."

"Big opportunities," he managed. "Gotta take them. Hey. Did you hear? I got the last blow on the Emperor."

"And now you see what comes of disobeying orders for the sake of glory. I hope you've learned your lesson."

Now Gaius did wince, and Olivia had half a mind to tell her how it happened. Before she could, he said himself, "I was joking. Blue and his knight were getting their asses kicked."

"So I summoned him to help," Lissa finished. "Oh, I'm so sorry Maribelle, I didn't think he'd get hurt so badly."

"I don't blame you, darling," Maribelle murmured, eyes glassy. "Just... don't. Don't get hurt like this again." She touched his shoulder as if he would break apart.

Instead of making any promises, Gaius grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her down for a kiss. Maribelle didn't seem to mind—in contrast to Olivia's expectations, she didn't even seem much surprised, kissing the life out of him like it'd soon be gone. "Oh, no no no!" Lissa chided. "You'll break your bones! They're still tender you know!"

After lingering for a moment, Maribelle broke apart and gently pushed Gaius's arm away. "You heard her. You're not well enough for that, you rascal. Now lay down and get better."

* * *

After a futile search for Henry, Olivia picked up her rations and circled the camp nibbling at them. She should have picked up water with it. It was so dry that the second bite stuck to her mouth in a dusty coat that tasted of unease. But she didn't really mind. Her worry killed her hunger. Stahl said that he saw him on their way back to camp, but if he was right, where could Henry be?

Eventually she thought that she could at least be useful and raise their tent, and found Henry there at their allotted place, already halfway done with it.

"Oh, hi Olivia," he chirped while fussing with a knot.

"I was worried about you."

"About me? Ahaha, I'm fine." He released the knot and paused a moment as if to make sure it wouldn't unravel, then rose to his feet. "Our stuff is inside."

She honestly didn't know how to handle his nonchalance. Quite beside herself, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh?" He returned her hug and gave a little nuzzle as he asked, "What's the matter with you, Olivia?"

What _was_ the matter? She honestly couldn't tell if she was happy or frustrated or disappointed right then. Henry's pulse was calm against her ear, and for some reason it made her want to cry. "Are you ever worried?"

"Um. I'm not sure what you mean, but probably!"

She meant _about her_ , of course. She untangled herself from him and looked at him eye to expressionless eye—and a doubt nipped at at her. After watching the familiar warmth between Maribelle and Gaius, something about her own relationship seemed cold.

"Henry, do you like me?"

"Of course I like you." His hands tightened a little around her waist, and his face seemed to show worry after all. "You're my favorite."

"I guess I just feel like... I don't know..."

He brought her close, hands pressed against her back, hooking his chin over one shoulder. "I love you a lot. That's never going to change. So don't worry, okay?"

Where his neck pressed against hers, she felt his pulse pounding. "Oh," she said. She wrapped her arms back around him. "It's all right."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's probably just the month-blood."

* * *

It looked worse than it really was. She snuck with her bedroll, not wanting to explain to anyone else where the blood came from. By the river, Olivia expertly washed out bloodstains from her bedroll.

She squeezed out as much water as she could and wondered how long it would take for them to dry. Very nearly all of Valm seemed to be moist and sticky and she was worried it might smell. Perhaps, she thought, she should have washed it in the morning. Too late now. At least they would be back on the Ylissean continent within a month.

As she headed back to camp, trying to avoid running into anyone she knew, she caught sight of Inigo perched on a barrel and laughing with Owain and Lucina. She smiled to herself, in that moment—despite whatever had been said about age and circumstance—feeling very much like a mother happy to see her boy having fun.

She reassembled her bedroll and laid it out near the edge of her tent, so that the last rays of sun peeping through the flaps shone on its damp spot. She hoped that might make a difference.

Leaving that there, Olivia warmed up for a bit of dance practice. Having spent most of the remaining light washing out her bedroll, she didn't have the time to look for a secluded spot, but her tent would do.

She'd gone over her favorites many times with Inigo, she figured, so she ought to practice some of the lesser-known dances she knew, to make sure she remembered them. She thought of one she learned while traveling through the southernmost reaches of Plegia, about a disguised spirit visiting a noblewoman. She remembered it because she had been charmed by its style—curiously playful yet reverent, strangely deliberate yet sensuous. First came the spirit—he donned his disguise—he visited the noble as a beautiful girl offering to wash her feet. And then Olivia, the dancer, played both roles in quick alternation, the disdainful refined noblewoman, the seductively feminine man-spirit and his trickster tale.

She had just about finished her favorite part—where the noblewoman under-dresses, thinking little of her visitor—when with a rustle she saw her silhouette cast in a flood of light from the tent opening.

She stopped and wrung her hands behind her in embarrassment as she faced her visitor.

"Aww, don't stop." Henry let the tent flap fall behind him and the tent was dark. "Your dancing is great."

"Oh, no," she murmured, half out of habit. "I have so little experience with Plegian dance, and I'm almost certain I don't understand the story..."

"Oh? But your dancing is always beautiful."

"Well... thank you, although it could be better. Actually, would you help?"

"Sure!" 

"Do you know about the story about the spirit who disguises himself as a girl and offers to wash a noblewoman's feet, but writes his own name upon them instead?"

"Umm...." He touched his index finger to one side of his face, then raised it declaratively as he said, "Nope! The only stories I know are about Grima."

"Really? I thought it was a famous one..."

She couldn't see his expression in the dark, but the giggle he gave sounded perverse to her ears. "I wouldn't know. No one told me stories." She bit on her tongue as she regretted asking. "Well, except Mustafa, but his were war stories. Anyway, you should try asking Tharja! She knows all sorts of stuff about Plegian lore."

Frankly, Tharja intimidated Olivia with her constant cool. Olivia had yet to find the courage to approach her. "Maybe," she said. "So, um... are you done with training today?"

"Yup. Frederick let us go 'cause it's going to rain buckets in about—oh—two minutes, tops."

As if on cue, light taps could be heard against the top of their tent. "Oh," Olivia said with a smile, for she loved the mellow sound of rain and thought it romantic. For some reason, what she said instead was, "I hope the tent doesn't leak."

"Nope. Robin had us waterproof them all." He went to the corner, tossed his cloak over his things, and removed his shoes. The patter of rain grew steadily louder—and to her surprise, he started to remove his leggings as well. "I think I'm going to go out and rinse off."

"In the rain?"

"Of course. Want to come? It's warm!"

She had been caught in a temperate rain once or twice on the road before, but never had she used it in place of a tub. It must have been the Feroxi in her—standing in the rain made you sick, and it had never crossed her mind to do it deliberately. But now that she thought about it... "Yes. It sounds nice."

Thinking that it was dark enough to hide her nakedness, she quickly removed her clothes and left them in another corner. He took her hand and led her out into what had become a storm, clouds blotting out the moonlight, fat drops blown so fast that they stung against her skin. Their hair had become soaked near-instantly; the sound of Henry laughing was the only thing she could hear over the roar of rain and the howl of wind. She only knew he was there beside her because he still held onto her hand, and when lightning flashed in the distance she saw him next to her.

"This is kind of exciting!" she said—yelled, so he could hear her. 

"Isn't it great?" he shouted back. 

She gave a laugh lost to the rain and reached out blindly for him, bumping her fingers against his chest and finding her way down to his waist. In the noise, everything was silent. He hooked his fingers over her arm as she pulled him closer to her. She released his hand so she could grasp his shoulder and draw him nearer. The water was warm but he was warmer; she blindly tried to kiss him and caught his jaw in her lips. He leaned his head against hers, the water streaming down his hair mixing with her own hair, the wind clean and cool against her back, his skin heated where they touched. She ran her hand down his arm, down his side, as if cleaning him off, though the water rinsed wildly over them both. He must have thought of the same thing, and licked at her cheek. Olivia hooked her leg around his and pressed closer to him while kissing hard against his neck, feeling little bumps from where she had nipped him before. 

She started to regret that her skin was half senseless from the pounding of the rain; when she parted, she stepped backward and drew him with her through the flaps of the tent.

As he had promised, the cloth stood strong against the rain. The only water within it was what they brought with them, little footstep-shaped puddles near the flap; even the wind and the trickle of water outside seemed to flow around the tent. Hexes were useful, she decided as she squeezed the water from her hair. A spray of water hit her as, judging by the sound, Henry shook himself off.

Well, it wasn't like she was dry to begin with.

She carefully felt her way over to where she'd left the bedroll, and pulled it flat across the ground as best as she was able. It was still damp, but at this point it hardly mattered. "Here," she said, the sound distant against the steady thrum of rain against canvas. She heard him approach and kneel on the cloth, at which point she reached over and wrapped her arms around him and kissed one shoulder blade. He smelled so indescribably good, the pure scents of rain and himself mingled together into something soft and clean.

Continuing where she'd left off outside, she pressed his shoulders against the bedroll and kissed the nape of his neck, when she heard him ask, "Again?"

What did that mean, _again_? He had seemed eager enough only moments ago. Did she want it too often? ...Did he not want _her_? She lingered uncertainly, awkwardly, lukewarm water dripping from her breast. "I would like to," she ventured.

"Oh. Okay." He crossed his arms above the pillow and laid his head atop them. Before she'd figured out what that meant either, he said, "It's fine, Olivia. Go on."

* * *

So he said. But more and more she had the feeling that he'd rather not be with her.

Their relaxed march to the Valmese port would take a little over a week, and—although they kept their formation in case of attack from any remaining loyalists—there was enough time at the beginnings and ends of days to while an hour away with cards or dice, or in Olivia's case, dance practice.

Olivia was much too shy to ask Henry if there was anything he wanted to do, especially since she herself had no ideas, but she was still hurt that he never himself expressed an interest to spend an afternoon together. Yet she seemed to find Miriel with him quite often: by his side in the rearguard, next to him in line at the mess, and once, passing by their tent to drop off a book.

Maybe she was seeing things.

Two nights before the reached the port, she returned to their tent to find him already there, lying on the bedroll and reading the book by the strange light of a little cylinder he held in one hand. Olivia had no doubts who he had gotten it from.

"What's this?" she asked as she sat down next to him. As she spoke, the light flickered out.

"Research!" The light flickered back, and then abruptly went out as he added, "Oh, do you mean this? It's something Miriel and Ricken made. They wanted me to test it out. Neat, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Though it takes so much concentration to light up that I can hardly read while using it. I kind of wish I had a lamp instead." He flipped the ribbon into the book and closed it, setting it and the cylinder beside the bed. Then he nestled against her leg and let out a sleepy sigh.

She wished it weren't dark so she could tell if he was being honest or not. Without lying down yet, Olivia let her fingers touch his hair as she wondered if she should—or could ever—confront him.

"Olivia?"

"Hm?"

"Is there anything you've wanted lately?"

A normal marriage, she thought briefly. "I do miss Feroxi food. Duck with jam, potato dumplings... I regret not buying that princess cake from the baker at the port before we left. I haven't had one in so long."

"Princess cake?"

"It's a little round cake with layers of whipped cream and a shell made from ground almonds. They're so expensive. No, it was for the best that I didn't buy one. It'd set me back several days' savings..."

And she thought also that she didn't long for it that badly, not as much as peace and rest and for all the troubles in her life to work themselves out, but her rambling did its work; Henry accepted her answer with a little hum.

After a moment of silence, Olivia asked in return, "What about you?"

"Me? Hmmm. A puppy would be nice." She didn't have a response ready for that. "I miss being with animals. ...I wonder how that dog is doing."

"He's probably fine," she said. After she said it, she thought she sounded unduly curt, and she felt guilty for the way she spoke to him. But if he noticed, he didn't show any signs of minding. She ran her fingers across his scalp a few more times before settling into the bedroll beside him. He wound himself around her and kissed her on the cheek. She kissed him back, and didn't complain of the heat.

* * *

Inigo's birthday coincided with their third full day out at sea. Although they had wealth to spare following their recent victories, their provisions had to last two weeks. Inigo waved off their apologies saying that this was already more than he'd ever had for his birthday.

When Olivia gave him a little bundle tied with a ribbon, he confessed, "I think the last time I got more than well wishes for my birthday was before you and Father died. You gave me a little pair of dancing shoes you'd made from bits of leather that Father had saved. I always treasured them, even after they no longer fit, but one day we were ambushed and we just barely made it out of camp with our lives...."

He sighed, and she bit her lip to keep from spoiling the surprise as he squeezed the bundle with curiosity. 

"Mother, are these..."

"Yes," she said. "Happy birthday."

Inigo gleefully seized her in a hug. She gave a little squeak as her feet lifted from the ground, and let him twirl her about and prance about the room with her, heedless of the presence of all of his friends.

He stopped and blushed furiously when Owain started clapping.

"Like you don't love _your_ mother!" Inigo protested.

"That dance needs a name," Owain said—at which Inigo stormed over for a boyish argument about what fully grown men are permitted to do on their birthdays.

Watching him, in that moment she felt fierce affection for this boy with a piece of herself, even if she had only known him for so long. How was it that motherhood came so easily?

Before she knew it, Maribelle was sitting on the barrel next to her. "What a sweet boy. If only mine took after me half as well."

"I think Brady's quite like you when it comes down to it," Olivia said, and she could tell that Maribelle was merely playing a part as she affected distaste.

"It's his father's influence, I swear it," she declared. "You are quite lucky that your son has _your_ smile."

Was that so? Olivia had never thought about it like that before. She watched him as he laughed with the other children—they were of an age, but still in her mind they were the children—and it seemed to her that his smile was his own.

"Well," Olivia said, "I'm glad to see him happy."

"Now that's his father's gift."

She knew it was only a joke, but it bothered her anyway. "Henry's hardly ever happy."

Maribelle glanced at her and away, and then for a few moments neither of them looked at each other. Maribelle crossed one leg over the other, cleared her throat, and after a moment's contemplation, said, "I can't help but notice that you two seem a little... tense."

Olivia fidgeted with her bracers as she debated what not to say. "Lately he's just seemed cold."

"Cold? Really? It seemed to me like he's attached himself to you like a woodtick. Honestly, I'm surprised he isn't with you right now."

"They called him to help on deck. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like he sees me no differently than anyone else, I suppose. Even though I know he does _care_ , but..."

Once she put it into ill-chosen words, it sounded silly and contradictory to her ears. Mercifully, Maribelle filled in her lapse. "Perhaps he's simply a poor conversationalist. Or at least, I've gathered such an impression."

"Maybe," she said half-heartedly. "Lately I've been wondering if this was the best idea for either of us."

Maribelle didn't say anything to reassure her. She wondered if that was because Maribelle was being considerate of her feelings, or if it was because she privately agreed with her doubts.

"We were all on a ship like this one for so long. That was when we started talking seriously, and he told me—about himself, and that meant something to me. He was really sweet, you know? I felt like I wanted to be there for him. So when he proposed, I—I wasn't sure, but I didn't want to say no. Because if you say no it's... you've cut off that possibility forever, and I thought I did want to be with him. And then I met Inigo, and it seemed like... it felt like proof I'd made the right choice."

Olivia paused for breath, and thought briefly about how she was making Maribelle uncomfortable. Well, it was too late.

"Then later, talking to Panne I found out that he just tells people things, and I suppose I... maybe I'm not special? He doesn't seem to want to be around me, except to convince me that he does. We've all known him for maybe three months by now. Everything seems faster in war, but we only left in May. Just three months. And I'm wondering now—I don't know if I actually know him any better than anyone else. I don't know if this is actually love, and I... I don't know, I should stop talking."

"It's all right," Maribelle murmured.

"Sometimes I think things might be better if I were with someone else." Olivia squeezed her hands between her knees. "But I... I have Inigo to think about. I know I'm not responsible, directly responsible for him, but I... I don't want to disappoint him."

She and Maribelle sat side by side, watching their children of another life joke and wrestle.

"It's a little unfair, isn't it," Maribelle said. "That we live with the weight of decisions we haven't made."

"Mm. But now that I've met him, I could never wish not to know him."

Maribelle's fingers rested against her arm. "Is that the only reason you want it to work?"

"No," Olivia said. "If it could be, I wish we were madly in love."


	3. Chapter 3

At times she was eager to have sex with him because it was something to do together. Actually together, not like lying side by side and conversing like strangers. Perhaps it was an illusion, but it was something they could share—although she could not help but notice that he never started things himself.

Once or twice she tried something new, something she'd heard of from Maribelle or her former companions in hopes of piquing his interest, but she never got more than his usual lukewarm response.

"I'm glad you liked it, Olivia."

The part that really drove her mad was that when she thought back to the beginning of it, she couldn't be sure that he had ever acted differently.

Meanwhile he flitted from Miriel to Tharja. Olivia wondered if she had merely been just another passing phase.

She'd lie in their cabin rubbing her ring, staring at his books, thinking to herself that if she had anything that could be called a talent, it was in singing and dancing and Henry never seemed to have more than a passing appreciation for either. What did he expect from her, from a wife? Perhaps he could find something in the mage women that would hold his interest. Maybe he wanted someone to talk to about magic. Maybe he wanted a better lover. Maybe he wanted to be left alone.

But whenever she asked him if there was something she should do, his answer was always the same. He would kiss her on the jaw and say, "It's fine."

* * *

By the time they docked at Port Ferox, two days before her own birthday, she'd managed to halfway convince herself that things could last the way they were, merely because they had continued without worsening for a time.

Then that afternoon, she noticed that he was missing from her side. A few ravens passed overhead, all headed in a single direction, cawing as they disappeared over a rooftop.

It was too soon for them to be migrating.

"Will you look at that," Maribelle mused. "I wonder what those silly birds are doing?"

Something was wrong. "I need to check on something."

Olivia took off down the alley, glancing up at the sky to try to catch sight of the birds again. More birds flew by, and Olivia wound through the streets following them. She couldn't say for certain why she had to follow them—just that her gut told her that it had something to do with Henry.

She passed by the walls at the city outskirts. Then she could immediately tell where he was. Off in the distance, in the patchy grass between the city and the wilds, a figure stood with ravens in the sky above him and the grass gone dead and colorless around his feet.

Olivia couldn't have imagined a more ominous scene in a storybook. She clutched her hands to her chest and worked up the resolve to go up to him.

He was facing away from her. As she approached, she saw him raise a hand to the sky. A small songbird—which she hadn't noticed at her distance until his hand drew her attention there—fluttered down to perch on his finger. He brought it before him where she couldn't see. Then he suddenly gave off a bright flash of light, and a sound like a small peal of thunder. When it faded, his shoulders slumped a little as if in dejection, and he turned to one side to toss something small and unmoving toward the waiting ravens. 

They flocked to it immediately. Olivia felt a little sick.

He seemed to spot her, and gave her a wave in greeting. She didn't wave back. She stepped through the grass, scattering the ravens before her until she was close enough to see the blood on his fingers.

"W-what are you doing?" she said, feeling much smaller than she was trying to be.

"Huh? I'm trying out some new hexes, see..."

"You—you killed that bird?"

He tilted his head. "Yup. I needed sacrifices, after all."

"Y-you're killing little birds? As sacrifices? That's... that's awful!"

"Awful? Why?"

"They're... they're innocent little creatures! They don't hurt anything, they just fly around and sing. To take their lives for a hex, that's... that's worse than not giving the dog a chance to heal. It's—it's murder!"

Henry gave a thoughtful hum, pressing a finger to his chin. "I know you wanted to save the dog. But you eat birds. So it's not the same thing...?"

"It's—it's not the same thing! I, I mean it's—"

Olivia struggled to come up with a way to explain something that should have been obvious while Henry waited with infuriating patience.

"Eating is necessary, but to kill them as _sacrifices_..."

"Hmm, I don't really get what you're saying. But if you don't want me to, I won't." He wiped his hands on his cloak. "I was doing it for you, though."

"What? I... I didn't want you to... I never asked for..."

"You didn't seem very happy with me lately. So"—he broke out in a broad grin—"I thought that if I figured out some kind of numbing hex, I could do all the stuff you want me to."

"That's so... I don't..." Olivia stepped back and pressed her hands against her chest. "So you don't like me after all."

"No! It's not that." He took a step closer to her and she took a step back. "I love you, Olivia."

"I don't think I can believe you. It's all we've done together, aside from talk about the weather. And you don't even want that much?"

"I like talking to you," Henry protested weakly.

"I think—I think you haven't meant a word of what you've said since we were wed." 

"I always mean what I say."

"No, none of it matches up to how you act around me. I really think—I think the truth is that you don't really want me—" 

"—Nope, that's not it. I—"

"—and if you don't even want to be with me—"

"—No. Olivia?—"

"—then I don't know why I'm with someone who'd kill on a whim!"

Henry stood paralyzed with open shock on his face. His left hand was tentatively raised as if to signal that there was a point wanted to make, but it halted there in midair, reaching in front of him. Before he could recover, Olivia turned around before the hot tears in her eyes showed themselves, and made for the city.

The ravens cawed, and for a moment Olivia felt some ill premonition. She brushed her tears into the heel of her palm and glanced back. Henry still stood in the same spot, though he had lowered his hand and a raven had settled on his shoulder. She looked away again and walked quickly, as if she didn't want to be around when he came back to his senses. 

She had never yelled at him like that before. And she had never seen him genuinely angry. For a moment Olivia was afraid, for she knew very well what he was capable of. 

But Henry did not even chase her as she left. As it was, her thoughts were fixed on the notion that she had finally ruined their relationship once and for all.

* * *

She cleaned herself up before meeting Inigo for their joint dance practice, but nothing could so quickly lift her spirits.

"What's wrong, Mother?" he said with a brilliant grin. "It's really a shame for someone as beautiful as you to look so glum."

She thought about lying to him. And if things with Henry had been as they were before and she could have continued to keep Inigo in the dark, she would have.

"I just had a... little fight with your father." Thinking belatedly that _fight_ sounded more serious than what she wanted to say to him, she added, "Please don't worry about it."

Inigo's eyebrows shot up momentarily in surprise. "What? A fight?" And then she could clearly see, despite his efforts to seem calm, that he was heartbroken. 

It made her regret being so forward. "Yes. But it'll be all right," she lied.

"Well, I hope so." He smiled, but seemed far from convinced. "You know, in the future, the biggest fight you ever had was over me." He said it quite happily, so Olivia prompted him to go on. "One day you really lit into father about pleading my case whenever I wanted anything. He really did spoil me, haha."

That was the most that had ever come between them? 

"Mm. That sounds nice," she said noncommittally.

"I mean—that was all a long time ago, when I was a kid, but—"

By his face she could tell that he understood what he might not have known. And so instead of comforting another, he had managed to cast doubt upon his own happy memories.

"Then I'm sure we'll have it worked out by the time we have you," she lied. (Was it the ruin of the world that kept them together? Was a little lack of love nothing then?)

"Of course! You love each other, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then everything will work out—right?"

In that moment it occurred to Olivia that the face Inigo made when on the verge of tears looked precisely the same as his father's.

"Inigo, don't cry. It's all right."

She instinctively reached to touch his arm to comfort him. Startled, he flinched away. "I'm not a child, Mother."

"No," she said, "but you are my child. And I don't like to see you sad."

"I'm... not exactly," he said, bringing his hand near his face as if he could hide his tears from her. "I'm not exactly your child."

"Inigo—"

"You don't owe me anything. And it's not like it's my family anyway. It's all right, Moth—I mean..."

Watching him cry made tears well up in her eyes, too. "Inigo, no. You are my son. Of, of course you're upset about this."

"I just really can't believe..." he said in a small voice. Olivia wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, wishing Inigo were tiny enough to comfort like a child.

"It hasn't happened yet," she said, drying her tears on his shirt. Inigo sniffed and squeezed her in his arms. "I'm, I want it to work. We're going to make it work. Okay?"

"When I came back I was so excited that we could be happy together as a family again and..."

"We will be," she said. "Shhh."

\---  


Olivia rehearsed things to say over and over in her mind as she waited in their room at the inn.

_We need to talk._

Too unsettling.

_I want you to tell me the truth._

Accusatory. Even worse.

 _I want to make it work_.

Maybe something like that.

She closed her eyes and imagined holding him as they both cried and apologized and kissed the tears off each others' faces and made up with tender love. By the time she opened her eyes again the sun had begun to rise. 

And Henry had not returned.

Dressing quickly, she hurried to the lobby with her hair still in disarray. But before she could report his absence to Robin, she caught sight of him sharing a bit of bread with Inigo at a table by the window. His cloak was a bit dusty but otherwise he seemed well. The two of them were laughing and giggling like nothing was wrong.

Wondering what to make of the fact that Henry was avoiding her, Olivia went back up the stairs before they saw her.

She combed through her hair, questioning if he even wanted to save their relationship. There was nothing she could do if he didn't. Though perhaps it was her fault in the first place. Now that a night had passed, she found herself regretting nearly everything she'd said.

But Inigo seemed in good spirits. Maybe Henry had also told him that they'd come back together.

She had just finished putting herself in order when a horn sounded out for battle. 

She dashed to the window to see the situation outside. Nothing was visible from here except the eerily empty streets. Olivia grabbed her sword and clasped its sheath to her side as she ran down the stairs.

She spotted Gaius walking out of the inn as he fastened his cloak, and caught up to him, asking, "What's going on?"

"Risen attack," he answered. "Ask Bubbles." He gestured to where Robin was shouting orders and ran off.

* * *

Their plan was to stop the Risen before they approached the city. She received her orders from Robin and went off to where their forces had met the Risen. She dashed back and forth offering her dances to help the others advance to critical chokepoints in the city's outer defenses.

It seemed to be going well so far. No Risen had made it past their front lines. Olivia danced for Ricken so that he could gallop off to rain fire on another group of Risen.

She took a moment to breathe. A shadow passed over her. She looked up, and saw the figure of a pegasus against the sky. It was not uniformed in their colors.

Olivia was on her feet and had her sword ready by the time it dove down for an attack. She jumped aside as it rushed her. Whirling about quickly, she waited for it to come in again. The Risen made a quick turn and charged in again closer to the ground. That was her chance—stepping aside from the direct line of its charge, she aimed a slash at the pegasus's saddle. Her sword tore a fresh wound into the side of the undead animal, but failed to cut through the leather of its saddle.

She looked about her for help, but the closest allies she could find—Panne and Kellam—were busy holding back a tide of Risen and certainly couldn't afford to leave their positions. Where had Ricken gone? His wind magic would stand a better chance than Olivia's sword.

No; for now she was alone, and she had to try her best to keep the pegasus rider from heading into the city.

The garb of the Risen was usually rotten enough that their saddles were easily cut, but it seemed that this one was still good. Perhaps she could grab the rider's leg and pull her off of her mount—a better idea for cavalry on land, but there was little else that Olivia could try in her position. 

The pegasus rider swooped in again. Olivia jumped out of the way, then just as quickly, thrust her hand toward them, aiming for the Risen's ankle.

Something smashed into her and knocked her onto the ground. She let go of her sword. Her head slammed into the dirt. For the first few moments, trapped in a haze of sparks, she didn't even notice how badly her shoulder hurt. 

Then it burned like cold fire. She grit her teeth as she tried to summon the strength to get up. Her left arm useless and dribbling warm blood all over her side, she struggled up lopsidedly, raising her head only in time to see the Risen diving toward her.

She fell back and raised her good arm before her face.

She hoped she would survive. Somehow. By some chance. Some stroke of luck. She wanted to live.

She didn't know how but—

A split second before it would've landed upon her, in blew a sudden violent gust of wind, pushing the pegasus off its course to one side. Missing Olivia by several feet, it stumbled a few paces to regain its balance. 

Olivia turned her head. 

Inigo rode toward her with Henry behind him on the saddle. "Olivia!" Henry called, awkwardly dismounting. "Are you all—"

The sounds of wings beating drew her attention back to the other side, where the pegasus knight had recovered. Inigo gracefully hopped down from his horse without letting go of his bow, and drew an arrow from his quiver. "I've got it. Take mom and go!" he yelled, his eyes never leaving the Risen. 

Henry knelt by her side and gently worked one arm under her good shoulder. From what she could see, her shoulder looked... bad. She couldn't quite make sense of what had happened to it. "Thank you," she said, her voice hazy with pain.

"You're lucky we saw you," he said cheerfully as he guided her to the waiting horse. "It would've been pretty bad if we came a few seconds later, huh?"

His upbeat calm only added to the surreality of having nearly died, but it was somehow soothing. She laid her head on his shoulder and murmured, "That's the second time you've saved my life."

"Is it? Ahaha, it is! But I should really do a better job of keeping you out of danger in the first place." Olivia made a soft sound of agreement, though she wasn't really thinking about what he was saying. Now that she was out of immediate danger, she became aware that her heart was still beating rapidly, her shoulder was radiating pain, and everything was starting to go soft around the edges. "Olivia? Hey, Olivia, stay awake, okay?"

"I'm awake," she muttered. (She was.) She noticed that she had stopped walking, and at some point she had closed her eyes. She opened them now, and watched Henry gently recline her onto the ground.

"This is going to hurt," he said, rummaging through a bag tied to the horse's saddle.

"What is...?"

He probably didn't hear her whisper over the sounds of battle. With a bundle of cloth in one hand, he knelt down next to her and repeated, "This'll hurt!"

Holding one end of the bandage with his teeth, he pressed her left arm against her side, sending little stabs of pain up her arm. He wrapped the bandage firmly about her arm to secure it to her side. Then, clearly trying to be gentle, he slowly passed it over the wound.

She cried out as a thousand shards pressed against the inside of her flesh.

"Sorry," he said as he secured the end of the bandage. "Your shoulder is pretty broken, but we can't have you bleeding out before we get you to a healer."

Weeping loudly, she managed between sobs, "That... that really... really hurt."

"Uh huh. It's awful, isn't it? Just hold on for a little more, okay? Maribelle's not too far away and she'll make it all better."

He left her side for a moment. Through deep breaths, trying to abate the searing pain, Olivia saw him coax the horse into kneeling. He came back over and said, "I just need you to walk a little more. Then you can relax." He wrapped one arm under her middle, and the world spun in a field of stars as she leaned on him, letting him pull her up and halfway carry her onto the horse.

He held her against his chest with one arm as he flicked the reins with the other. Her shoulder stung with the horse's every movement. She didn't want to cry—and it really just made her feel dizzier and more out of breath—but it was impossible not to.

"I just saw her a moment ago," he explained as he rubbed his thumb against her elbow. Maybe he was trying to comfort her, though frankly she was too miserable for it to make any difference. She was starting to feel nauseated too. "You'll be fine in just a bit. It won't be long."

"I want it to stop," she said, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched and pathetic.

"Sorry, Olivia," he said, laying a kiss on her ear. "I'd offer to end it for you, but I don't want to lose you. Sorry for being so selfish."

She was too distressed to try to follow his line of thought. "What?" 

"Well, it'll stop hurting soon anyway, right? —Oh look, there she is."

A few moments later she heard Maribelle's voice. "Olivia! Dear gods!"

While Henry babbled on about what had happened with the Risen, the two of them lifted her from the horse and set her on the ground. Maribelle immediately set to work. The coolness of staff magic took the edge off the worst of the pain and Olivia took deep breaths of relief.

"She'll be fine," Maribelle said, and Olivia realized that she was talking to Henry. "You'd do better to go after their wyvern riders than stand about worrying."

"But don't you need someone to get you water and bandages?"

"I have enough with me. Go. It'd be a disaster if they made it back here, you know."

"Oh, you're right. I'll be going back to fight, then!" His fingers brushed against her face. She opened her eyes to see him smiling down almost—gently. "I'll be back, okay Olivia?"

"Okay."

Then it was her and Maribelle, working silently with the staff. The pain subsided to a dull throb, waning enough that she felt comfortable enough to drift to sleep.

"Say. Olivia?"

"Mmm?"

"Promise me you won't be blinded by this? Swear it, for me."

"... Huh? Will—will I go blind?" Maybe it was the blood loss, but no one seemed to be making any sense anymore.

"Oh, no, not that. Never mind. I'll spare you the lecture for after you've had a rest."

"Can I rest?" she murmured as she closed her eyes. "It's all right? I'll wake up?"

"Yes, it's quite all right. Sleep if you need it."

* * *

After the battle, after she had been moved to the healers' tent and rested for a night, she woke in the morning to find Maribelle half-dozing on the pallet next to her. 

Olivia turned her head to inspect her throbbing shoulder. She remembered it as a grisly mess that hardly seemed like a part of her. But now it looked fine. Sometime while she was drifting in and out of consciousness, it had been neatly re-bandaged. She experimentally raised her forearm and, with relief, rested it over her stomach.

To her side, she heard Maribelle make groggy waking sounds and crack every last joint in her body as she stretched. With a feminine little sigh, she rose and combed her fingers through her tangled curls. "Good morning, Olivia. How does your shoulder feel?"

"Much better." She curled and uncurled her fingers and thought to herself that yesterday hardly seemed real, now that she was safe and feeling all right. "Thank you, Maribelle."

"It's a healer's duty," she answered, coming around to check on her shoulder. Maribelle's hair was still loose in golden bushes about her face. Seeing her looking so unkempt on a peaceful morning almost felt improper to Olivia, as if seeing her in a state of undress. "Now let's see how it's coming along."

As she gently undid the dressings, Olivia stared at the tent roof and thought about how she had always been well protected as their dancer. The others must have gone through that several times by now. "I can't believe Gaius never cried."

"Hmm?" Maribelle was quite concentrated on her work.

"After the last battle in Valm. He was so hurt, and yet..."

"Ah. Apparently those of his profession often find themselves being 'persuaded'—a matter I must look into once we are back in Ylisstol. In any event, he's become quite resilient." Maribelle dropped the old bandages on the floor beside her and dragged the tub of water a little closer. "Everyone does take wounds differently. Your own husband is also quite remarkable in that regard. ...Which reminds me."

Though she wasn't sure what Maribelle would say next, Olivia had a feeling she wouldn't want to hear it.

"I shouldn't have pressured you," Maribelle said contrary to expectation. She elaborated, "Shortly after your marriage," and Olivia remembered a conversation from a lifetime ago that she had always thought of as well-meant.

"No, I never minded that."

"Well—I worry that I drove you forward faster than you should have gone." 

Was it what Olivia had said to her on the boat? About only knowing him for months? "Maybe I was a little worried." Everything from before the battle seemed a lifetime removed, and all of their disputes, entirely petty. "I think I was just wound up from being cooped up for so long on our ship. You know, I think I might have just been worrying too much—"

"Of _course_ you think that," Maribelle sighed, pressing a wet cloth against her wound and making her wince. "He just saved your life. That's bound to bring you closer for a time. But I heard about what happened two days ago." (Naturally, Maribelle didn't explain how or from whom.) "That sort of thing doesn't simply disappear at the slightest hint of gratitude."

"It's not slight," Olivia protested. "And it's not just gratitude."

"I know, dear. All the same—Well, just keep it in mind when you notice that things aren't as they should be. When you do, you'd best get it out in the open."

"You're so pessimistic, Maribelle."

Maribelle waved her off with a fresh roll of bandages in her hand. "You don't need to heed me right now. Just keep it in mind."

* * *

The days after the battle were some of the best days Olivia had in recent memory. Her brush with death seemed to make everything in life taste sweeter. And half of the Shepherds checked upon her personally, expressing their concern. It nearly embarrassed her that she was so well-loved.

For her birthday, Inigo brought her handpicked flowers and a neatly wrapped princess cake. She knew it couldn't have been his own idea, but she pretended it was—She _just_ had a craving for one, how did he know?—and thanked him profusely for being such a wonderful son. (Which he was without a doubt, whether he could read her mind or not.)

On the third day of their march, she was well enough to walk on her own feet rather than riding on the supply wagon, and that night, instead of remaining in the healers' company, she returned to the tent she shared with Henry.

He laid down next to her right side that night, and rested a hand so gently on her good arm that it verged on superstitious caution. "Does it still hurt?" 

"Hardly at all." 

He laid still and quiet as not to disturb her. But Olivia liked his presence, silent and warm and watchful. And until they reached Ylisstol, though she could not claim that she knew precisely where the difference between then and now laid, she felt content. He seemed to be as well.

By the time they settled in the royal palace, she had regained her strength. And one beautiful morning, when they slept in and the bright sun lit Henry's ruffled hair into a halo about his head, Olivia took his face into her hands and kissed him.

When she parted and ran her hands down his sides, she saw something surface on his unguarded sleepy face that bothered her.

"Is something wrong?"

And in a moment his usual smile was back. He rested one hand on her waist and said, "Nope."

Olivia gazed at him, but that—dread?—that had lingered there was gone. She brushed her knuckles against his eyebrow as if that could get him to stop contorting them into false glee. 

He still smiled. She let her hand fall onto his shoulder and decided, right then, to say, "I need to talk to you about something."

After she said it, she realized that wasn't much more delicate than _we need to talk_. A quick flash of panic crossed Henry's face.

"Sure," he said. "About what?"

"You," she said. "Me." She brushed her knuckles back and forth along the curve of his jaw. "I want you to be honest with me, Henry. Is something wrong?"

With open eyes and hesitation, he hedged, "I don't mind, really..."

"Mind what?"

He hummed a little as if he were thinking, or as if to say _I wonder_.

She stilled her hand with her fingertips on the tender skin below his ear. "Listen, Henry—if I can be a bit blunt, I... I mind." His pulse sped under her fingertips. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, before. But I felt like... well, I guess... for a while you must've hated what I was doing, but you didn't trust me enough to tell me."

"I trust you," he protested. And although he seemed entirely honest, Olivia had her doubts. Maybe he didn't realize that he didn't know what it meant. There was a time when he didn't know what happiness meant, either.

"It was the sex, wasn't it? Was there more?"

"Well—I don't mind most of it." (He merely didn't mind?) "I just don't like the parts that hurt."

"The parts that hurt," she repeated, remembering thinking herself that she'd been rougher than she intended. He had laughed it off, like he'd laughed off horrible battle wounds, so she hadn't thought anything of it.

As if sensing her thoughts, he said, "It's no big deal afterward. You know, it's a bit like when a weapon's being swung right at you but you know it's too late to do anything about it."

So that was the dread. "I'm sorry," Olivia said, tears starting to come to her eyes. "I never... It was just... I don't know, it seemed right to me at the time, but I... I should have...."

She blinked and her tears rolled sideways onto the bed, but in truth she didn't know what she should have done or if anything could have been changed. All she knew was that she had snapped at him for things that were a result of what she had done, and she felt guilty for it.

"It's all right, Olivia," he said, smiling again and brushing his damp palm against her side. "I was glad to make you happy."

"It wasn't—it wasn't that important to me. I mean, I... I thought you liked it when I bit."

"Oh." He stilled with surprise for a moment before he spoke again. "Mmm, I don't. Sorry, I'm a little difficult like that. But thank you for thinking of me."

"But—Listen." She cupped his face in her hands. "A few weeks ago, when you were looking into the numbing curse, I guess? I really thought you wanted to be around Miriel and Tharja more than me."

"Not at all," he said, clasping her arm. "I like you more than anyone, Olivia. Are you worried? I'll kill them both if you want."

"No, it's all right," she said quickly. "I don't want you to kill anyone. I just—I'm trying to say that I just... I wish I knew. I wish you had said something."

"I can if you want me to."

Her instinct told her it wasn't that simple. Olivia kissed him on the nose, rested her face against his, and asked, "What would you have said?"

"Hmm... that I'd rather cuddle, I guess." He did just that, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "But it seemed like you really wanted it? I didn't want to upset you."

"I don't want to upset _you_. I wish you'd given me a chance..."

"Oh, you can't upset me. That's basically impossible."—As if he would deny his own reactions to her, or perhaps to himself. He tucked his chin over her shoulder as he embraced her as if to comfort her. As if she were the one in need of comforting. And Olivia felt like a fool for thinking that once seeing him in tears meant he had changed completely from the detachment he had always practiced before.

"You're upset, Henry," she murmured.

"Huh?"

"Your heart is racing. Your muscles are tight." (She had noticed the same before, but thought it was intensity. She knew better now.) "Ever since the start of this conversation you've been upset."

He leaned his head against hers. Droplets tapped against the back of her neck.

"I'm sorry, Olivia. I wanted to make you happy but—I just don't know how. I thought I could figure it out, but all I keep doing is messing it up."

It sounded so much like her own doubts that Olivia could not help but say, "No." Perhaps it wasn't the same for him, but she couldn't claim to know any better. Perhaps that was the problem all along—she'd resolved to show him love, but hadn't solved for herself what that meant.

"What should I do? What do you want me to do? I don't want you to leave me, Olivia. Please don't leave me."

"I won't." She smoothed the hair at the back of his head and said, "I just wanted you to know."

* * *

One spare day at the palace, they took a walk through the gardens. Though summer was verging into fall, the garden was still alive with asters and lilies, goldenrod and sage, trees with tiny green bulbs of growing fruit, and flowering bushes she'd never learned the names of.

Henry pointed out a patch of flowers as they passed. "Hey, these are all Plegian flowers." This part of the garden was in full bloom, with strange but beautiful little flowers in whites and pinks. "I guess it's about that time! Most of our flowers come out after summer, when it starts raining enough."

"Yes. I visited Plegia several years ago, during the wet season. The landscape was beautiful.—Hmm." She pointed to a cluster of flat-faced red blooms. "These are called balsam, aren't they? For their scent and soothing touch. Oh, and these—these yellow ones are leek lilies, aren't they?"

"I don't know their names," Henry admitted, "but those ones grow all the time along riverbeds. Their roots are pretty tasty, too.—Oh, wow, I've never seen these flowers in orange." He led her along to where they grew in all the shades of the sunset, little bell-shaped blooms pointing upward in a row along their curved stem.

"Freesia," she said immediately. "They were one of my favorites."

"Oh? Well, I'm sure Chrom won't miss just one."

He plucked one of the orange blooms that had first caught his eye and tucked it into her hair. His hand hovered there for a moment to see that it would stay. Then he leaned back and looked at her with appraising eyes.

Olivia expected him to say something like "It looks good," but instead he said, "Olivia, why did you marry me?"

—Why did she marry him? Why would he ask such a thing? She opened her mouth to give a reply and closed it again. What kind of answer could she give?

Finally she settled on, "I suppose it's because I love you."

"Oh? That's good. I love you too." Smiling, he twined his fingers together in front of him and said, "I was worried it was just because I'd asked." Perhaps that had been one reason of many, but she felt it was better left unsaid. Olivia reached over and took one of his hands. "I wanted to make sure you would stay with me. But..." He squeezed her hand and stared into her eyes, as if he wanted to reach over and touch her, but in that moment didn't dare. "If you didn't want to, it wouldn't be the same."

"I want to."

"Are you sure? I'm pretty hard to deal with."

" _To deal with_ —Henry, that's not how I think about you."—Though she supposed the very way he said it was already a warning for times to come. She lifted their hands and pressed his to her cheek. "I like it when you're with me. Back when you avoided me, I missed you. You're—I don't 'deal with' you. I—"

His damp fingers tensed and relaxed where she held them. Almost as if it was too much for him to listen, he volunteered, "I love you, Olivia."

She let go of the thought for which she couldn't find the words, and settled for, "I love you too."

Henry touched his lips briefly to hers. Olivia laid her other hand on his shoulder and thought to herself that certainly, this would not be the end of their troubles. But it was a promising start.


End file.
